


Color Theory

by goingtoofast



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Never Met, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, My First Work in This Fandom, Other, Rejection, Soulmates - identifying by color
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-01-03 21:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21186197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingtoofast/pseuds/goingtoofast
Summary: An AU in which everyone is colorblind until they see their soulmate. Celestial beings are not prone to such measures.





	1. Sisyphus's Climb

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first ever fic, and I"m really excited to share it. It's been really fun to write so far, and I hope you find it fun to read. Please leave feedback in the comments and thank you for reading! <3

Crowley took a breath to re-establish himself and gave his best you-can-trust-me smile, that actually ended up being a please-give-me-some-slack-here smile. He got none in return. He turned back around to face the projector screen, seeing monotonous graphs staring back at him.

On one odd day, God decided to take color away from humans, only giving it back in the event that they found their one and only “soulmate.” While everyone regarded this as a generally bad idea, humans slowly took a liking to it, since it was much easier than putting in the work to  _ getting to know someone _ first. Then God thought the idea was  _ so _ swell that a few centuries later, the concept reached to her celestial beings as well. And, as everyone knows, demons are about the same thing as angels, only with a few stylish touches here and there.

So now, Crowley stood there in boring, uneventful eternity without a color palette. The chances of him finding his supposed “soulmate” were slim to none, he saw the same faces every day and as for any new Fallen, well let's just say that they picked their sides long ago. To change sides now would be, quite frankly, dumb. Not to say that he wasn’t hopeful for it, in fact, he needed something new to change things up, and the humans just don’t take as much romantic interest anymore unless their color receptors begin popping out of their eyes. Without anything to keep Crowley entertained, he was forced to use his creative focus onto gaining souls for Hell.

“Essentially, by funding these Sleep Number beds, thousands of people will be SO comfortable, that they won’t  _ want _ to get out of bed! Trust me, those beds are comfy, I slept on one for a good month. Did you know that they’re adjustable? Anyways, with this in mind, the possibilities are ENDLESS. Could you imagine?” Crowley explained, hoping for anything more than the odd cough.

Beelzebub lurched forward from his seat, “ _ No _ actually. I fail to see how this helps us in ANY way to acquire the souls of the damned.”

“W-well, the humans will inevitably indulge in laziness, thus turn up late for their daily functions almost regularly. This would generate bursts of smog periodically throughout  _ every _ morning. I mean, the  _ potential  _ here is just waiting for you like a- like a- sitting duck!”

Beelzebub looked tired. “Crowley, your efforts aren’t appreciated. These ideas of yours have been increasingly stupid, which I have said way too often. You’ve done superb work in the past, just continue doing what you did before and  _ maybe _ you won’t have to waste my time.”

Several demons grunted in agreement. It was obvious that everyone wanted to leave, and a few indulged themselves. This was when he looked at the other patrons in the conference room.

Suddenly, Crowley’s world burst with earthy hues from dirt and dusty suits that higher demons seemed to take such a liking for. He lost his breath. Sure, it wasn’t the best place to regain your ability to see color, but he hadn’t seen anything other than a different shade of gray for  _ millennia _ , and it was nothing short of spectacular.

Now the question was,  _ who in here is his soulmate?  _ But by the time Crowley gained awareness of his surroundings once more, the rest his colleagues were already leaving for the door.

_ Shit. _

He sprinted to the door handle to do what seemed to be an odd gesture of kindness but was actually an easier way to scan everybody. No such luck, however, as a servant demon gave him a weird look before walking out of the door, leaving Crowley completely alone.

Losing what little hope, Crowley turned back around to pack up his laptop. In complete silence, he contemplated his situation, the utter disparity of it, and how he would very likely never know who his perfect match was. Heading for the door, he saw a flash of blond hair disappear behind the staircase.

Now, it was a while since Crowley has been able to distinguish gray from a different shade of gray, but he was certain that he’s never met anyone with hair that…  _ bright _ .  _ That  _ has _ to be my soulmate! _ Racing to the steps, he wondered what they would be like, and what God considered to be his divine match. The dilapidated sign above the stairwell read “Gl-t-ony.” He was on the third floor now. He heard the mysterious person’s steps on the higher stairwell.

The serpent was getting closer.

But not close enough.

The two stayed in a sort of limbo of catching up and falling behind, all the way to the midpoint of where Heaven and Hell stood. The glassy foyer never had many people in it, something that Crowley was extremely thankful for at the moment.

A few meters in front of him stood a brilliantly blond man in a dark trench coat that seemed unfit for him, along with a small tartan side bag over his shoulder.

“Wait!” Crowley called out desperately.

The man froze, unsure of what to do. Crowley made the decision for him and awkwardly shuffled over. Standing to the man’s back, it was Crowley’s turn to be unsure. But now that he was close enough, he could sense the man much better now, and he wasn’t a demon.

“You’re an  _ angel? _ ”

The angel turned around slowly and took in Crowley’s shocked expression. The unnamed angel was a few inches shorter than Crowley. His aforementioned hair tightened into curls that suitably framed his face. And oh, what a face. Crowley wasn’t one to judge on looks, but if he did, it his soulmate won the prize. His eyes carried the sea, while it was entrancing and lovely, there was something else there. Something deeper. His pointed nose, something that Crowley thought would look horrible on himself, was quite attractive on the angel’s face.

The man shifted his weight, “Hi. Yes, hello. My name’s Aziraphale.”

So he did have a name. Aziraphale was clearly avoiding the topic at hand. Crowley continued, “Not only are you an angel, but you’re my  _ soulmate _ . It seems…” Crowley smiled. This time a  _ genuine _ smile, “...that we were made for each other.” He said that last part in a low whisper, entranced by Aziraphale and the unknown wonders that could follow them.

The short angel contemplated for a second, then cleared his throat. “Yes, I regained color as well, b-but God  _ has _ to have made some sort of mistake. You’re, well, you’re a  _ demon _ ,” he said simply, not meeting his eyes. “We can’t possibly be soulmates, we’re on different sides.”

* * *

Crowley decorated his flat regularly to update its style, after all, humans are so indecisive. His latest creation was that of a monochromatic theme, with a minimalist style washed over it. At least that’s what he  _ thought  _ he did. The room retained its minimalistic pattern, but the colors were nothing short of a mess. Reds and green wallpapers clashed between rooms, gray became an annoying shade of orange, and his bedroom looked like Jackson Pollock’s lost masterpiece. The only piece that stayed constant were the viridian plants.

Crowley ripped the bedsheets off the bed and put them all into a pile in the corner of his room.

“Of fucking course I get the one person in the WHOLE of existence who doesn’t want to be with their soulmate,” he grumbled as he lit the hot pink and dusty brown sheets on fire. He stared at the blaze with anger that rivaled the depths of hell.

After Aziraphale outright rejected him, Crowley stood there in utter silence trying to comprehend what was happening. Aziraphale had given him an uncomfortable look and turned back around, his oversized trench coat fluttering behind him as he walked away. For years, Crowley lived on the idea that his soulmate would make eternity less mundane… less _depressing. _But then that lifeline was shattered in a matter of seconds.

For four days, Crowley went through the process of burning (then replacing) any décor or paraphernalia that decidedly made him want to gouge his eyes out.

With his eyes too tired to match colors, Crowley decided to go out for a drive (and maybe wreak some havoc over unsuspecting phone companies.) Frank Sinatra’s  _ The Show Must Go On  _ played as Crowley’s immaculate Bentley drove around faster than it had any right to go.

_ Faster. _

At 120mph, Crowley whizzed past the streets of Soho with a chorus of honks and curses being thrown at him.

_ Faster. _

His speedometer maxed out a few kilometers back.

He was sure that his dashboard would burst from how fast he was going until bright blond hair passing his view caught his attention.

Crowley slammed on the brake pedal, lurching forward and immediately setting off the airbags (he installed them a few years back, it came with a free bumper sticker that he ended up never using.) His seatbelt stopped him from flying across Central London, but sharp pain hit him in its place.

_ Nothing a little demonic miracle can’t fix  _ he thought as he winced, rolling his neck painfully. His bones cracked back into place, mending themselves along the way. Crowley ungracefully stepped out of the Bentley and adjusted his jacket as if he and the car didn’t nearly become one.

Looking back the way he saw the flash of fair hair, his eyes met a bookshop-how cute. He started for the shop and left his Bentley in the street, trusting that it could drive itself back to the apartment.

Light footsteps met the pavement as a vintage car sped down the street dangerously. Crowley skid to a stop, with barely any distance from the door to the quaint bookshop. Now he was rethinking everything. Aziraphale made it clear that he didn’t want to pursue a relationship. But Crowley couldn’t help but try.


	2. A Forest in the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley isn't quite ready to give up on Aziraphale just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been a while since this has been updated, sorry about that. Lots of school work and all. But don't worry, I'm still very much dedicating my time to this fic :)  
enjoy!!

Aziraphale enjoyed spending his free afternoons by engrossing himself in a book. It was the perfect timing, he was able to digest and read at the same time. Plus, the weather was usually lovely mid-afternoon and, even if it was bad, still provided an unparalleled ambiance that fit just right with prophetic novels. Unfortunately, customers bothered him more often than he would like so he hid in the backroom in comfortable solace.

The sound of the front door opening filled the bookshop with the ring of the bell.

Someone was here, but it wasn’t like Aziraphale was going to help them. Settling back into the late Madame Vespera’s  _ Predictions of the Forthcoming Decades _ , he readied his pen, noting any correct statements in the book. Suffice to say, his notebook was looking a little bare.  _ In the year 1997, leg warmers will come back and _ \- he had read that sentence at least 7 times. With a sigh, he gave up and closed the book, the prophecies were probably inaccurate anyways. Still, it was impossible to focus.

_ Something was off _ , he thought. Whatever he felt was familiar, but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it. Either way, he had to deal with this immediately, before the afternoon was over. He put the book down and quietly walked to the main room. The bookshop was fine, nothing seemed out of place and the aging wood almost glimmered from the warm sun hitting it. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

That’s when he heard dozens of books falling over a few shelves to the left. Whipping his head, Aziraphale moved to see the source of the noise. On the ground was a man surrounded by falling books. His sunglasses were crooked, revealing golden eyes with snake like irises peering at him sheepishly.

_ Demon _ .

* * *

By no means was Crowley intending to make a fool of himself. In fact, right after the adrenaline in his body mellowed out, he formulated a plan. He would act like he was in here purely to look at books, then when Aziraphale spotted him, he would be suave and they would talk about their favorite authors and it would be splendid. Yet here he was, on the wooden floors, practically buried in dusty books.

When Aziraphale popped out of his backroom, Crowley was walking through the aisles. Seeing the angel made him practically jump for cover, forgetting completely that books are not good supports for an overly-startled 6’2 demon. He hadn’t quite prepared himself for their interaction yet, so his body’s immediate response to the dilemma was to hide from the problem at hand.

The problem at hand was getting closer by the second.

Okay, now it was  _ really  _ time to panic. What should he do? Try to escape? He couldn’t just leave his mess here. Discorporate? Too much paperwork. He was taking too long. The angel was one row in front of him.

_ Shitshitshit. _

He was going to get found out and then Aziraphale would kick him out and then he would never see him again and he would never be happy. He was going to suffer forever knowing that his soulmate really did exist, and yet he would never be able to love him. God why’d you have to do this--

An extended palm brought Crowley back to reality.

“Well are you going to take it or not?” Aziraphale muttered, eyes averted.

Two hands clasped and everything was quiet. Only quick glances were exchanged as Crowley stood once again and their hands quickly left each other, and just like that, the world began to turn again.

“Enh, um- I honestly didn’t mean to make a mess. I was just looking around,” Crowley said, surveying the mess at his feet with embarrassment.

Aziraphale took one look at the demon and sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

Crowley offered to help put the books back up, but Aziraphale merely shook his head and delicately collected the books. It was adorable. He treated the books like they were children and Crowley was pretty sure he overheard him talking to one.

Feeling like he was intruding on a personal moment, Crowley turned around and took in the ornate bookshop. To someone who hadn’t been able to color match not even a week earlier, this place was immaculate. Rich, dark oak lined every facet of the shop. Muted accents paired extremely well, even though you couldn’t really see it with the clutter taking every space 

available. Dust particles floated through the air, only visible through the sun beams hitting the windows. The entire shop just screamed… _ homey _ .

He stepped out of the aisle, into the middle of the shop, where a clearing gave a perfect view of its entirety. It was quite lovely, everything was neatly measured to fit around the circular shape of the building and each shelve was littered with books of all different amounts of decay, some of them being extremely old. Crowley wasn’t an avid book reader, but he could tell that these books were able to see today because someone put extreme effort and care into keeping them that way. He smiled to himself.

With lack of anything better to do, Crowley turned his attention back to Aziraphale, feeling bad for the mess he caused, and wanting to do anything to help the angel.

By the time he found which row he caused the mess in, Aziraphale was getting up. Aziraphale had a slightly annoyed look on his face, as if he just had a door-to-door salesmen banging on his door.

He took a breath and collected himself, then turned to Crowley.

“Let’s talk.”

* * *

The Bentley  _ always _ knew where she was going. She needed to, her owner was so bad at directions. So when Crowley quite rudely stumbled out of the car, she already knew what was going to happen. 

She had a free day off.

A good amount of smoke sputtered out of the exhaust, and the black car was off. She knew that Crowley wanted her to go back home, but maybe she’d take a drive around town first. It really does get boring sitting around all day.

If you happened to be walking the streets of Central London that day, you’d see a sentient Bentley, but it couldn’t be sentient that’s just impossible. Although, there’s no driver, then again maybe they’re just really short. It would explain why they were going so fast and had just about no disregard for other vehicles on the road.

And then you’d look again and it would be gone.

Many people shared the same sentiments that day, especially one lone cop, who just happened to catch a hooligan moving at what she thought to be impossible speeds. Turns out her speed reader agreed, displaying only a sad “ _ %%% _ mph” in response.

Hours passed and children began talking about the mysterious black car they saw doing doughnuts in the car park to their parents. They merely shrugged in response and continued doing what adults do at a playground: stare into nothingness.

One cameraman and news anchor pair tried to take a few pictures, in hopes to have a featured topic for Channel 3, and then the camera lens broke.

The Bentley really only stopped once, to check up on Crowley at that odd bookshop in Soho. Presuming he was more than ok, she left once again to finally rest after an eventful day.While she enjoyed her day immensely, she admitted it was time to finish it.

The traffic cops in London however, had a long night ahead of them. Approximately 50 different black Bentleys’ were whizzing around the streets. At least, it was presumed to be different cars (Although, it seemed important to mention that there weren’t even 50 registered Bentley’s in the country). While the traffic cams painted a picture of a single car going non-stop for hours, every camera showed a different license plate.

Every single one.


	3. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale get to know each other a bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So it seems that I update this fic about once a month, so if anyone was looking for an update schedule that's the best you're going to get haha.  
This chapter was super fun to write! And I hope you enjoy it :)

The soft smell of oolong tea permeated the air as it fell from a china teapot to a matching set of cups. Aziraphale refused to meet Crowley’s gaze, let alone acknowledge him, at least, not before he was finished with preparing the tea.

They were sitting in a cramped back room full of even older books than the ones in the front, if that was even possible. Unlike the elegant displays in the main room of the bookshop, this room was dark, dusty, and a tiny bit damp. Not to say that it wasn’t comfortable. He could easily sleep here for a few years, minimum. Although this time, Crowley made it a priority to not touch a single thing, keeping his arms strictly to his sides. He strongly felt that Aziraphale would never forgive him if he bruised such delicate books.

Apparently, Aziraphale’s “talk” required a luncheon along with it. A small glass table provided even smaller sandwiches, even smaller-than-that forks, and he was sure there were microscopic toothpicks somewhere in the meal, ready to unsuspectingly attack his mouth. 

The only safe-looking portion of the lunch were a dozen biscuits displayed on a golden three-tiered serving tray, nearly screaming _ eat me _ to Crowley.

He took two. 

The teapot gently tapped the clear table and Aziraphale was ready. 

The angel gracefully pulled out his chair and sat down to meet Crowley across from him, who was picking at his sandwich. He cleared his throat and Crowley responded by jumping out of his seat. 

“What brings you here, Mister…?” Aziraphale blew on his steaming tea.

_ Wait a minute. _ In Crowley’s haste, did he really not mention his name? This has to be a joke. But Aziraphale definitely didn’t look to be in a joking mood. 

“Uh- Crowley’s fine. And I assume you can guess why I’m here.”

“Ok, then.” Aziraphale said steadily, bringing his tea cup up to his mouth. “How’d you find me?”

“W-well it’s sort of funny, you see, I was driving around and I just happened to stumble on this darling little bookshop! I had no idea you ran one... actually, it’s not all that surprising.” said Crowley, trying desperately to make conversation.

Aziraphale didn’t seem convinced. He interjected Crowley’s sputtering lightly.

“Hm. Well I thought I was pretty clear on how I felt about this whole… _ debacle. _”

Not this again. Crowley couldn’t take another bout of this “reasoning” on how the color that they were seeing was just a figment of _ both _ of their imaginations. He stared down at his tea, using a tiny spoon to make little swirls on the surface.

“Yeah well,” Crowley was starting to slip, “Well I wasn’t clear on how _ I _ felt. I felt _ cheated _ . I felt like I was just _ stabbed _. And trust me,” He said, picking up his teacup carefully, “I know how that feels like. After centuries of waiting, I was greeted to the back of a shitty ass trench coat.”

Aziraphale gave a face of offence at the subtle diss to his coat which quickly gave way to a guilty look. After a few seconds of heavy deliberating, the angel said in a low voice, “First, I would like to point out that I was using that coat only for disguise, but nevertheless… perhaps… Perhaps I was too harsh. I didn’t think you would’ve taken my rejection like this.”

Oh, wow. Crowley was expecting anything _ but _ progress.

He continued, “You know it’s quite funny... I feel the same way. Cheated, I mean. Don’t you think it’s strange that God would pair one of her servants with one who, well, _ quit _ so to speak?”

Actually, Crowley hadn’t thought about that. He bit into his tiny sandwich, which was more than enough to engulf it in one try.

Crowley, glad to finally be away from rocky territory, took the change in conversation in stride, “You might be onto something, angel. What if this was one big misunderstanding, I mean, maybe something went wrong in God’s Ineffable Plan. What if we weren’t meant to be soulmates at all?” 

You must understand that Crowley didn’t continue with this train of logic because it made sense, but more so off of pure hope that his “real” soulmate wasn’t such a bastard. 

And you must also understand that, Aziraphale didn’t bring up this point purely for the logical fallacies of the Ineffable Plan, but more so from the nagging urge to continue reading his book.

It seemed that the two had found something that they had in common. Distrust of the Almighty. 

Aziraphale said, gaining interest in the topic with each passing word, “That is completely possible. God has a lot on her plate, I’m sure there has to be a few screw ups here and there. Right?” 

Neither of them answered that question.

“Honestly-” Crowley said, munching on a biscuit, “I say that we get to the bottom of it. Together.”

He immediately regretted saying that.

Aziraphale quickly looked at him with suspicion, but it subsided as he gave a relaxed smile.

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

Crowley’s stomach flipped. Maybe he’d get his wish after all.

* * *

“What,” Aziraphale murmured as he drew the blinds over the old, slightly tinted windows of the bookshop, “are we going to do, exactly?”

“Well, uh. We could always see a fortune teller?” Crowley said absentmindedly as he explored the wonder of Aziraphale’s impossibly neat front desk.

“No.” Aziraphale responded, hanging his _ Sorry, We’re Closed _ sign on the front door.

“So, what are you thinking of, then?” Crowley settled on fiddling with a quill.

“Considering that this whole conundrum was caused by the Almighty, maybe we should go to… our uh, _ bosses _.” Aziraphale plucked the quill from Crowley’s hands and put it back in it’s spot.

Crowley looked up sharply, “No.”

“Are you sure? They have a better chance of having any information than any other one of God’s beings.”

“Angel, that idea might work for _ you _ , but you obviously haven’t had the pleasure to meet _ my _ lot.” Crowley grinned.

“Obviously not. But I suppose that no one in Hell would know about this sort of topic.”

“In fact, and stop me if I’m wrong,” Crowley’s eyes narrowed, ”but wouldn’t _ your _ lot disregard the whole thing as well--”

“And _ that _ is where you will stop. I refuse to hear such slander to my kind.” Aziraphale scolded, as he tidied up his desk even more.

“You know,” Crowley said, seeing an opportunity to tease, “I was once _ your kind _ too.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I suppose you were.”

And that was the end of that.

* * *

Escalators are not commonly associated with anxiety, but to Aziraphale, they elicited a response three stages up from mild stress. 

Sure, he trusted his coworkers, they all had the same goals as angels. But sometimes, no _ most _ times, it was hard to have a productive conversation with them. But where else could he go? Certainly not to Hell. Aziraphale would just have to suck it up for the time being, and hope they pick up a self-help book on politeness one day.

Each growing second left him to think, and think, and think as he rose to Heaven’s gates. This amount of thinking, unnecessary for any social interaction, let alone a business meeting, only succeeded in turning Aziraphale into a flaming wreak as he stepped onto the glossy white floors. There was something so cold about Heaven, the walls left no room to hide. You were always like an open book to everyone else. 

After an hour of squabbling, the two decided that only Aziraphale would go and talk to his higher-ups, while Crowley would try to find other ways to gather intel. At this point, Crowley was kicked out of the bookshop because Heaven knows Aziraphale would discorporate before he left him there alone with his books again.

“Ahh, Aziraphale! It’s so nice to see you again.” Gabriel grinned, arms open wide, which didn’t in fact, indicate the initiation of a hug. 

“Likewise!” Aziraphale said with a smile, which didn’t in fact, indicate that he was comfortable.

“A little birdie told me you were having some trouble, Aziraphale.”

A dove had, quite literally, scheduled the appointment.

“I had a few questions regarding, uh, soulmates.”

“Soulmates? I suppose that would be under a Principality’s jurisdiction… Is there a certain human that we should be keeping our eyes on?”

“Actually, the um- the question is for me.”

“For you? Well then.. That must mean you found your soulmate!” Gabriel gave his patented wide-grin. “Congratulations Aziraphale, that is really great. Everyone is so happy for you. This goes to show that the Ineffable Plan never fails! So, what’s your question?”

“The question, right.” Aziraphale chuckled nervously, “Do you- do you think that, hypothetically speaking, soulmates could be,” He took a breath before continuing, “mixed-up?”

“Well, _ hypothetically _ speaking,” Gabriel thought about the claim and sucked his teeth in, “I guess it could happen. But that’s all hypothetical. Realistically, the Almighty never gets things wrong,” Gabriel looked at him, “You’re not questioning the Almighty, are you?”

“No, of course not! Just.. curious is all.” Aziraphale made a weak attempt at a smile.

“Well, don’t be.” Gabriel said just a little-too-sweetly.

Aziraphale stayed silent.

Gabriel glanced at his watch. “Oh, sorry to cut this so short, but I have important duties. As an Archangel and all we tend to get _ very busy _. You really are lucky to have a job where you don’t do anything.” Gabriel laughed, as he turned and walked to the exit. 

Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped uncharacteristically. Crowley was right. He shouldn’t have come. 

* * *

There was a small diner that Crowley often went to. It wasn’t modern, in fact it was the complete opposite from that. The wallpaper was curving at the bottom, the white chairs had permanent divots from constant use, and the menus had a stain to go along with each dish. Nobody ever came here for several reasons. One, because of the previously mentioned flaws; two, the food was horrible; and three, it was a front for the Irish mafia.

Needless to say, he loved it. 

It was perfect for whenever he needed to orchestrate a _ job _ that would’ve gotten the police called on him. Here, you didn’t ask people their business, and they didn’t ask yours. Plus, it helped that the mafia members all thought he was one of them.

Although today he wasn’t planning a triangle scheme or trashing a church, he was merely browsing his laptop for any blogs or articles dedicated to solving the mystery and science of soulmates. 

Most of his searches resulted in quizzes like, “Find YOUR soulmate with this simple color test!” each with more exclamation marks than the last. As for scholarly sources, none of them helped. The science was almost exact, something to do with chemicals and rods and cones and whatnot biologically, but there were no reported cases of disorders involving mix-ups.

There were however, people who permanently lost color momentarily after their encounter, people who saw color the day they were born, and countless people who never met their soulmate. 

God never made things exactly perfect. It would cause certainty.

Crowley banged his laptop in frustration. This was hopeless. At this rate, they would never find their real soulmates. A small part of him didn’t mind spending a little more time with Aziraphale, but the rest of him was screaming bloody murder_. _

The waitress handed him a cup of coffee that could be smelled the next street over. Crowley nodded in thanks. 

He began to click open links and scroll absentmindedly through the articles.

> _ See these three methods to find _\- Crowley closed that tab quickly, no.
> 
> _ Looking for my soul _\- Not that one either. 
> 
> _ What does color loo _\- Nope. 
> 
> _ What to do after divorcing your soulmate _\- Bookmarked. 
> 
> _ Symptoms of late onset pigment-loss _\- Hopefully no. 
> 
> _ Question: “My partner doesn’t want to pursue a polyamorous relationship. What should I do?” _\- He winced, yikes.

Crowley took a sip of bitter, bitter coffee as he wondered if he should even try investigating anymore. At this point, Aziraphale probably had more information from his angel-friends alone. Or maybe not. Angels were, well, _ particular. _

In any case, it was probably a waste of his time to browse boorish web pages when he could instead do anything _ but _ that.

* * *

Later that day, during the late afternoon, Crowley was squatting on a sidewalk. If it weren’t for the way he was dressed, most people would assume he was a homeless man picking up loose change. 

And while he was technically broke, in that he had neither a job nor a bank account, money was of no concern for him.

Crowley had superglue in one hand, and quarters in the other, in efforts to bring more evil into the world. He had spent the last three hours walking around the local area, placing change wherever he felt best. This meant that any restaurant, shop, or trash bin in the vicinity was victim to Crowley’s antics. 

The coin was fixed onto the ground and Crowley stood up to admire his handiwork. After about a hundred times, the glue was practically invisible. But that’s when he caught a familiar display on the building in the corner of his eye.

A familiar “A.Z. Fell and Co.” stared back at him. Crowley specifically went to the tiny diner because it was many blocks away from this specific bookshop. But now he saw that the blinds were down again and the Closed sign was back up, meaning only one thing. 

Aziraphale was back.

Crowley took a deep breath as he whisked away his glue and coins. Time to bite the bullet.


End file.
